Mistletoe and Wine
by DebajoDeLaCafeina
Summary: It's the season to be jolly at NCIS; but, so far, nobody's feeling particularly festive... Will hopefully be a 12-chapter fanfic, and by turns angsty and fluffy. Rated to be safe for possible hinkiness in later chapters. CONTAINS SLASH AND FEMMESLASH!
1. The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year?

_(A/N and Disclaimer: ...Oh dear. Long time no update! All I can say in my defence is I had total writers block since I wrote my last oneshot, and the few moments of inspiration I've had have been, sadly, blimmin' hard to find time for. My New Years resolution will be not to neglect my in-progress fanfics! I'll be a good girl for 2009, I promise. For now, I'm uploading this - **a festive angst/ romance/ fic**, which should hopefully be 12 chapters long when I finish it. **It contains a lot of slash and femmeslash, at least heavily implied; so if you don't like, don't read!** However, to the slash-shippers amongst you, Merry Christmas or anything else you may celebrate and I hope I manage to do the fantastic characters and show - **which I do not own in any way, shape or form**- justice! This is for all my fantastic, crazy friends - Ellie, Jenny, Loz, Daina, Rosie, Kels, Jack and Jonny, that means you! - and my beautiful girlfriend, Rowan. And now, I think I've rambled enough, so lets rock'n'roll! Or something...)_

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Gibbs sighed as he picked up his hot, industrial strength coffee to-go; thanking the struggling girl on the other side of the counter - probably hired to help during the Christmas rush, he guessed - with a nod of the head and an unintentionally gruff "Merry Christmas", before turning to manoeuvre through the throngs of chattering people - all pink-cheeked from the cold, and weighed down by bags bulging with their Christmas purchases; rolls of wrapping paper protruding dangerously from some, and small children jumping up and down at the sides of their fondly exasperated parents, excited by the Christmas lights and carol singers outside. It was definitely Christmastime. As he mercifully managed to exit the coffee shop without spilling his coffee or being accidentally jabbed somewhere painful with the end of a roll of wrapping paper, Gibbs sighed and thanked any deity out there that he had now, finally, finished all his Christmas shopping - he'd rather have volunteered to act as a knife-throwing target for Ziva than return even closer to December 25th, when the current crowds of shoppers would have become a frantic stampede desperate to find presents for loved ones amongst the depleted stock in the two-for-one seasonal sale aisles. He hated Christmas shopping at the best of times - but this year, he had someone special to buy for. Well. A 'would-be' someone special.

Finally returning to his car, swearing under his breath at the biting cold that somehow permeated even his warmest coat and scarf, he placed his two bags of purchases on the front passenger seat, placing his steaming coffee cup in the cup-holder beside him - and, locking the car from the inside, pulled the bag nearest to him over to examine the purchases inside. Resting the bag on his knee, he closed his eyes and let out a sigh. It had been bad enough, since Shannon and Kelly, spending Christmases alone with nothing to look forward to but a visit to the cemetery and getting blissfully inebriated in his basement afterwards while listening to Christmas classics on the fuzzy, crackling radio. But because of this... attraction, which was more depressingly real than anything he had felt for anyone since Shannon's death, this year he was all set for the added pang of unrequited love marring his Christmas day. He took a long swig of his coffee. The unsweetened, tar-like substance was bitter as he swallowed it down - but, clichИd as it was, Gibbs couldn't help thinking that no black coffee could be as bitter as the feelings he had for this person going unrequited, if noticed at all. He mentally head-slapped himself at that thought. Since when did Marines, let alone him, sit in their cars drinking coffee and feeling sorry for themselves, mooning over a colleague? Leroy Jethro Gibbs, what has happened to you?  
He sighed again. Talking to himself inside his head... He had a feeling he'd be doing that a lot over Christmas. Whoever said 'it's the most wonderful time of the year' was talking out of their ass as far as he was concerned. Christmas was the worst of times- this year especially.

Suddenly realising that his teeth were beginning to chatter, he turned his key in the ignition to start the car engine and hopefully begin to heat the car up a few degrees - enough to stop frostbite setting in, at least. He decided to busy himself in the meantime by looking over his purchases. A decent bottle of wine for the Director, a festive bow-tie for Ducky, a necklace for Abby, a book for McGee - not Deep Six, although the thought had been tempting - and for Tony... He looked glumly at the bag on his lap. Pulling out the two gifts inside, he held one up in each of his cold hands and looked at them critically. Somehow, the time he had spent carefully choosing Tony's gift didn't seem enough, and at the same time seemed too personal, too much. He was sure Tony would know instantaneously how he felt when he gave him his present - and if Gibbs had been horrified to realise how he really thought of the wisecracking field agent, he didn't like to think how Tony would feel. Gibbs' Rule 12 had doubtless pissed off many people, many times - and here he was breaking it. Or wishing he could, which was even worse. But where Tony was concerned, it seemed that rules were made to be broken - and Gibbs would have been fully prepared to snap them all in two and throw them out of the window, if there was any point. Tony would never want him in the same way, and there wasn't anything Gibbs could do to change it. Gibbs wasn't used to not getting what - or, indeed, who he wanted; but this was one time he knew that there really was no point. His gut hadn't been wrong yet.

Despite his worries about Tony's gift, he knew they were perfect for the other man. The shirt he had chosen was dark purple and of a silky material, tasteful and well cut, and he knew it would look instantly stunning the minute Tony put it on - en again, anything would in Gibbs' eyes, much as he hated to admit it, even to himself. And the other gift was just... 100%, pure Tony. Gibbs had known, whatever the price, he had to get it for him. The Complete Seventh Season of Magnum, P. I; which Gibbs knew was the only season of Magnum that Tony didn't already possess - he, allegedly, had bought it; but then the box set went missing after a party Tony hosted, and a friend, when asked, of his claimed to have won it off him in a game of poker. He knew that Tony would love the gifts, but couldn't help but wonder if he would be perturbed at receiving a personal present from "The Boss". Gibbs rarely showed Tony affection - and he hated himself for it at times, but if the alternative was giving away his feelings for the younger agent then he knew which he'd rather do - and a personal gift like this would not so much blow his cover but send it rocketing into orbit. But he was, in all honesty, sick of pretending like this with someone he had to see every day. If he didn't do something about it soon, rash and unwise as it might be, it would drive him insane. He had already resigned himself to the fact that Tony wouldn't feel the same, and he could handle it. It was having to hide something so momentous, all the time, from someone he trusted with his life in the field, that made him feel as if he was being pulled further and further down into something like oblivion with every step he took. Even Tony's rage or hatred would be less painful.

Gibbs slowly replaced Tony's gifts into the bag and put it back on the seat beside him. Picking up his coffee, he downed it in a few generous gulps before placing the empty cup back into the holder. The car had warmed up considerably while he had been mulling over his thoughts, and it was now a comfortable temperature. In the hope of blocking out the unwelcome introspective thoughts clouding his head, Gibbs reached over and switched on the radio. A jazzy, festive rendition of "_Jingle Bells_" that was far too cheery for Gibbs' current mood began piping into the car. Gibbs sighed, and said aloud to himself as he began to pull out of his parking spot:  
"_Damn Christmas_!"

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_(Ummm...any opinions? Sorry it's all so angsty and clichéd and out-of-character for Gibbs. The next chapter should be up very soon - I'm trying to get the lot done for Christmas, but whether that'll happen, we will have to see...  
Oh, and I don't own Jingle Bells or Deck The Halls or their lyrics, either! Just thought I'd better add that in so nobody shoots me... And I tried for ten minutes to get the summary to read " 'Tis the season to be jolly..." but the stupid thing wouldn't let me. I bet someone'll point that out, so please don't hate me - I tried!__)_


	2. Under The Mistletoe

_(A/N: So, this is the second chapter of my new, festive NCIS fanfic. Thank you so much to the people who've reviewed so far - I'm sorry I've neglected to reply to your reviews as of yet, so I hope I don't disappoint you with this chapter. **I have to warn you, it's extremely angsty, with a fair bit of innuendo and a lot of Ziva/ Abby and... well, you'll see. And may I stress that, unlike many of my Zabby stories, this is in no way based on real life! As always, I own nothing.** So here goes...)_

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Christmas was definitely on its way, and the annual NCIS Christmas - wait, Winter Celebration - Party was in full swing in the bullpen. The wine was flowing (courtesy of Tony, who had arrived already rather drunk, with several of the bottles looking suspiciously half-empty), the snack food was plentiful (though the mince pies Ducky's mother had so generously provided had been left well alone after the Director had discovered a large hairball in hers upon biting into it), the conversation was friendly - if becoming increasingly slurred and rambling - and festive music was piping through the intercom. The whole team were there, at least making an attempt at getting into the spirit of things.

Well, everyone other than the inebriated, heartbroken forensic specialist curled up in the darkness of the stairwell.

Abby sniffed and wiped her eyes fiercely, as if rubbing them harder would prevent more tears from falling - an idea that was proven to be incorrect, as three more large tears rolled down her cheeks when she blinked. Murmuring drunkenly to herself, willing herself to calm down at least enough to try and find a way to get home - driving, of course, was not an option - but every time she came close, the image of the scene that had caused her to come hurtling, devastated, to the soothing bolthole of the stairwell rose up anew in her mind and began the whole vicious circle again. This was anything but her idea of a fun night out. It couldn't get any worse... well, it could, if her so-called lover and that... that whore were to come down the stairs and stumble upon her. That would be sure to put a downer on their foreplay. Abby laughed, a bitter, humourless, alcohol-induced titter; and pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and rested her head on her knees; closing her eyes as tears slipped from beneath her closed eyelids and sobs wracked her whole body.

She'd always hated mistletoe, anyway...

The evening hadn't been so awful to start off with. In fact, it had been enjoyable, despite the distinct lack of Caff-Pow on the drinks table. The music had consisted of cheesy Christmas song upon cheesy Christmas song - she'd expected nothing less: it was after all, McGee who'd chosen the music and wired it up to the intercom system - the karaoke had been hysterical (oh, she hoped that someone had videoed Gibbs' tipsy, off-key, out of time rendition of "Hit Me Baby One More Time" - complete with the dance routine - for YouTube), and the food hadn't been all that bad - well, nobody had been dead by the time she'd exited the bullpen, anyway.  
And, of course, Ziva had been there. She'd looked effortlessly stunning, wearing the deep red dress Abby had bought her for her last birthday with her hair loose and wavy - and she'd still fretted a little about the outfit as they prepared to leave Ziva's apartment, after Abby had arrived to pick her up.

"You look incredible, Zee" she had assured her, lifting the Israeli's dark hair to kiss the back of her neck, close to the clasp of her Star of David necklace. "Really", she had added. In the mirror, Ziva's eyes had sparkled and she had turned to wrap her arms around Abby and kiss her, suddenly and passionately, before whispering "_Toda_", and turning to leave, tugging a surprised but happy Abby behind her by the hand.

Ziva had been happy to go to the Winter Celebration ("Call it Christmas!" she had exclaimed. "Nobody in NCIS is going to be offended by a Christmas party. Least of all me, and I'm part of the reason the name had been altered!") party with Abby, despite usually avoiding parties such as this one and grumbling whenever they were made to go to a formal awards ceremony or other gathering by the Director. She had seemed to be enjoying herself, too; laughing at Tony's less-than-sober state and at the dreadful karaoke. At a push from Abby, she had given it a go herself- declared the winner after getting through the first verse in tune, and without falling over; a feat nobody else had managed. Her prize had been a box of mint chocolates, which she and Abby had eaten most of. Then Abby had gone to get another vodka, and when she had returned her girlfriend had been nowhere to be found.

Puzzled, she had asked a few people if they had seen her; and McGee pointed her vaguely in the direction of Jenny Sheppard's office. Abby was sorry, now, that she'd ever asked. She wished she'd been inebriated enough not to register Ziva's disappearance, or at least too wasted to make it up the stairs without staggering backwards and knocking herself out or worse. But she hadn't been, so she had gone to the Director's office to seek Ziva out. She was wondering if Ziva might be up for another session in the lift, courtesy of the blessing that was the emergency stop button.  
Finding the right door, and seeing that it was open a crack, she decided to look through without going in, for fear of incurring the wrath of the Director or Cynthia by breaking something in there. And what she saw made her freeze, unable to look away - like a horror movie that you can't stand to watch for another second, but you can't make yourself tear your eyes away from the screen. Not even breathing, she had stood and gazed in utter shock at the scene taking place on the other side of the door, the two people involved oblivious to their newly acquired spectator.

_Ziva and Jenny_.

More accurately, Ziva and Jenny locked in an embrace beneath the sprig of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling of the Director's office, kissing like there was no tomorrow, Ziva's hand in Jenny's short hair, Jenny's arms wrapped around Ziva's neck.  
And Ziva was loving it. Abby could see this for sure - as she looked on, wide-eyed and horrified, the true magnitude of what she was seeing slamming into her like a sledgehammer even through her tipsy haze; as Ziva - the woman she was in love with who she had believed was in love with her too, who had whispered those words countless times as they lay in bed with their bodies nestled close together and her arms around Abby's drowsing form - kissed the Director passionately; barely-audible moans escaping her as their lips crashed together again and again.

Abby hadn't realised she was crying until she brought her hand up to her mouth in shock. Stumbling away from the door, her hand pressed to her mouth to prevent a gasp or a sob escaping, she had turned and run clumsily towards the main stairwell. It was only when she had made it down three floors that she allowed herself to sink to her knees, her choking, agonized sobs echoing up and down the stairwell as her whole body shook with tears, shock, and drunkenness.

How could Ziva have done that? How could she do that to _her_? Abby couldn't understand it. They hadn't argued, not for several weeks, and she knew she'd apologised and made up to her girlfriend - if she could still call her that - for the last fight they had had. Ziva had always seemed happy in their relationship... But Abby knew she must have gone wrong somewhere, for Ziva to be driven away for her, all the way up to the Director's office to shove her tongue down Jenny Sheppard's throat under the mistletoe. Abby would never have seen this coming. She had never been unfaithful, always condemned the idea - what had happened to that? Or maybe it was always just a lie. Maybe there had been a whole string of secret lovers that Abby had never known about, never suspecting a thing of Ziva, too blissfully ignorant in her illusion that their relationship was something Ziva valued as much as she did. Her sorrow began to mutate into anger inside her, and she quickly became furious at Ziva's deceit. How dare she! No matter what the reason, if she wasn't happy she could have told her so that they could work on the problem or break it off, rather than... do that. Wasn't she worth the effort or the honesty? She knew that she, Abby, was worth that at least. But what was she worth, really, if she hadn't picked up on the fact that Ziva was unhappy, frustrated, turning away from her...? Perhaps Ziva had dropped hints, tried to talk to her - and she had brushed it off, said she was too tired or too busy, or somehow turned the conversation into their typical, pre-sex, innuendo-filled banter. That just about summed it up. She was selfish, concerned with only her own needs rather than those of the woman she claimed she'd do anything for - anything but really listen. What kind of a lover was she? Heartbroken, lonely, drunk and confused; despair overcame Abby and she put her head in her hands, tears leaking through her fingers.

"...Abigail?"

Abby had no idea how long she'd been sitting there when she heard a concerned voice call her name. Raising her head slowly, she looked up. The silhouette was one she recognised, but it look a while for her to make out through the dark and her tears.  
"Duck-man!" she said, giving an attempt at cheeriness that was foiled by the tears still running down her cheeks, and her slightly slurred voice sounding as if she had a terrible-head cold. "What can I do for you?"  
"You can explain why you're sitting on the floor in the stairwell, by yourself, sobbing your heart out" Ducky replied. Squatting down beside Abby, he looked at her, his eyes full of worry behind his glasses. He put a hand gently on Abby's shoulder, and she began to shake uncontrollably.  
"Abby? Abigail, for God's sake, say something!" he said, desperately.  
"Z... Zi - Zi..." Abby couldn't make herself say the words. Ducky's expression softened.  
"Is it Ziva?" he asked gently. "What happened, Abby?"  
Abby's mascara-streaked face contorted, and Ducky put his arm around her and drew her trembling form closer to him as she blurted out the words that tasted like acid on her tongue.  
"I saw Ziva kissing the Director, Ducky..." she sobbed. She felt rather than saw Ducky inhale sharply in shock.  
"Oh, Abby..." he said. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry..."

Abby shook her head weakly, unable to speak; resting her throbbing forehead on Ducky's firm shoulder as she wept uncontrollably. She couldn't stop, even when Ducky gently helped her stand and led her downstairs, and she was dimly aware of him saying something about driving her back to his home where he could look after her. She cried until her throat was raw and her head was pounding so much she could barely see - and she was too exhausted, physically and emotionally, to do anything but finally fall into a fitful, restless sleep.

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_(Like? Hate? Please let me know! I'll try and get the next chapter up as soon as I can.)_


	3. You’re All I Want For Christmas

_(A/N: Yay, third chapter! This one's **mostly McGee's point of view, with some more unrequited love, a bit of a songfic at the end and non-explicit, McNozzo... maybe-slash**. I'm giving nothing away here! **Thanks again to the people who've reviewed so far- it means a lot**. Sorry for being so horrible to Abby in the previous chapter! **As always, I own nothing.** I hope I'm doing okay so far...)_

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Tim McGee had never been a party person. He doubted he ever would be, even if he lived to be one hundred. Years of being shunned in high school, as if he had a permanent _'Kick Me'_ sign stuck on his back and '_Nerd_' tattooed on his forehead, had seen to it that McGee never got invited to a single one of the parties the others in his class would obsess about beforehand, and rave about afterwards. The gossipy Monday morning exchanges had been as alien to him as if his classmates were speaking a foreign language; and the few parties he had been to consisted of him and a few equally out-of-it friends pretending to drink the cans of weak beer they had swiped from one of their fathers with gusto - McGee barely sipping his in terror that his parents would find out - before the conversation dwindled to awkward, monosyllabic replies; and somebody finally cracked and suggested a game of Dungeons and Dragons.

Years later, McGee still found clubs and parties a little awkward, and he'd much rather have been at home with a good RPG or a book, but he had agreed to go to the Winter Celebration (God forbid anyone call it a Christmas Party within earshot of the Director), since the rest of the team were going. And, secretly, he had looked forward to the excuse to gaze at the oblivious object of his affections all evening long. But now, after a few hours, the novelty had... not worn off as such, because he could stare at that beautiful face he knew so well all evening and not get tired of seeing it. But standing on the sidelines and watching everyone else have a good time was making McGee feel like a lonely high school kid again, watching as the man he quietly and inconspicuously (he hoped) adored paid attention to everyone but him.

McGee sighed to himself. He wished he'd accepted Ducky's offer of a lift, so that he could have spent the evening getting blissfully drunk to take the sting off being more or less ignored by the colleague he was _not_ in love with. He thought about finding Ducky and checking if the offer was still open, but he hadn't seen the older man for a while, and he'd have felt rude asking even if the medical examiner was around.  
The party was beginning to die down a little, or at least decrease in size - Abby had disappeared to look for Ziva, and where she'd got to was anyone's guess, the Director seemed to have disappeared into thin air; and Ducky had gone, too. Which, out of their immediate team, left himself, Gibbs, and... Tony.

Oh, God, that man... it made McGee's heart ache to look at him. His smile, his hair, his deep blue eyes - everything about him was stunning to McGee, his handsome features just as breathtaking every time he looked at Tony as they had been the first time, and every time since. He had been attracted to Tony since the moment they had met, and even though Tony took delight in teasing him at every opportunity, he found himself enjoying it. It was enough to be paid any attention whatsoever by Tony, sarcastic and ridiculing or otherwise - besides, he knew Tony was not a malicious person, and even though some days the teasing cut deep, he knew that Tony didn't mean to badly upset him. Embarrass him, yes, but not really hurt him. Tony was a good man above all else, and it was what McGee loved the most about him.

Deep in his daydreams, McGee noticed with a start that Tony himself was looking right back at him. How obvious he must have looked, staring right at him for who knew how long! McGee felt his face burning as he looked hastily away, fixing his eyes instead on Palmer, who had fallen asleep on top of Ziva's desk and appeared to be sucking his thumb. He had a horrible feeling that Tony's eyes were lingering on him curiously, but he didn't dare look back up - not now.

_Why _did he have to fall for Tony of all people? Why a man who would never return his feelings, never look at McGee with the eyes of anything but a colleague? He had lain awake for countless nights, dreaming up a multitude of far-fetched scenarios in which Tony returned his feelings fully, had gone through the pain of hiding them just like McGee had, and after one or both of them confessed all to each other would usually lead to them kissing passionately, and then… well, whatever happened next. But the wishing wasn't so bad – it was just knowing that there was no point. Tony was straight. And even if he wasn't, why would he ever look twice at a man as plain as McGee? Tony could get anyone he wanted, and from what McGee had heard he usually did. He deserved someone as effortlessly stunning as he was; and what did he, Timothy McGee, have that could ever make Tony want him? He was just McGeek, the Probie, the butt of everyone's jokes. He had always been last on everyone's list, and it was the same with Tony– in fact, this was the textbook example, the demonstration that should be put in a glass case and preserved forever for future generations to study. He was in love with a man who would never love him back, and would find the very idea either hilarious, or repulsive. And he hated it, but there was nothing he could do. He had tried to forget it, and it had always come back to him.

A familiar tune reached his ears through his introspective reverie; and his head snapped up at the sound. This was definitely not a Christmas song. Everyone around him seemed to be looking up thinking the same thing, and he was confused for a moment when he realised that many of them were turning to look at him. Then, he remembered that it was he who had organised the music for the evening – and he felt his ears start to burn, closely followed by his cheeks, as the reason why came back to him.  
This song… for some reason, it always made him think of Tony, and on impulse he had added it to the evening's playlist. Now, he could have kicked himself for it. Turning around, he was evaluating his options for a hasty exit when he felt a hand touch his shoulder. He wanted the floor to swallow him up when he looked over his shoulder and saw who it was.

"Tony-", he began.  
But he was wordlessly cut off when he registered the look in the other mans eyes. He had imagined it often enough, but had never taken into account how weak it would make him at the knees – it was a look almost like hunger, and so intense he felt that he could drown in it. He had to remind himself to breathe as Tony looked right back at him with his hand still on McGee's shoulder, rendered unable to form words but desperate to say something.

"What...?" he managed to say, his breath catching in his suddenly constricted throat.  
At this, Tony finally smiled, the oh-so-familiar smile that lit up his whole face and made McGee melt inside every time. But there was something different. It seemed somehow softer, less ready to deliver a witty one-liner. Although McGee knew that it was probably just the large amount of alcohol Tony had managed to knock back over the course of the evening; a tiny, hopeful part of his mind was daring to wonder if the way Tony was staring at him meant what he so badly wanted it to...

"I never knew you were a Lifehouse fan, Probie", Tony said lightly, his words only a little slurred. McGee blushed, cursing himself inwardly as he did so.  
"I... well, I guess... you learn something new every day" he managed to stammer. Tony grinned.  
"It's alright, McGee. They're good", he replied. Then, he paused, as if he was considering what to say next. McGee braced himself for a joke at his expense.

"Want to dance?"  
McGee was sure he'd misheard.  
"S-sorry?" he replied.  
"D'you want to dance?" Tony repeated. He was still smiling slightly, one corner of his mouth quirking upwards in a way that made it a struggle for McGee not to just kiss him there and then, and to hell with the consequences. As it was, he was breathing shallowly, sure that this was all just a vivid daydream brought on by the dubious ingredients of Mrs. Mallard's mince pies, or a drunken practical joke being played on him. Perhaps Tony already knew about McGee's feelings for him and had decided to have a little fun by messing around with them.

"...Me?" he asked, in a small, stunned voice barely more than a whisper.  
Tony took a small step closer to McGee, their faces only a few agonizing inches apart.  
"Who else?" Tony replied, in a low voice. McGee swallowed, his throat dry.  
"...Alright, then" he answered, barely able to believe what was happening.

Tony grinned, and took hold of McGee's wrist, leading him into the small space that had been cleared by pushing the desks back to make a makeshift dance floor. A few people were watching them and whispering, but McGee barely noticed any of them. All he noticed was Tony. Tony DiNozzo, _the _Tony DiNozzo, who was currently holding one of McGee's hands in his own, his other warm, firm and surprisingly soft hand resting on McGee's shoulder.  
"You okay, McGee?" he asked quietly. McGee managed to nod, by way of a reply- but then asked the biggest question plaguing him, spoiling this otherwise perfect moment.

"Why are you doing this, Tony?" he said, looking right at the other man. Tony raised his eyebrows a fraction, meeting McGee's gaze.  
"...Why not?" he responded. Then, he drew McGee a little closer to him, so that the other man's head was beside his, his chin almost resting on Tony's muscular shoulder. He was close enough to feel Tony's heart beating inside his chest, beneath the dark shirt - maybe purple or navy blue, he couldn't tell with the bullpen only illuminated by fairy lights - and smell the alcohol on his breath. The song - that damned _song_! - was still playing, just coming to the chorus. He could see a few other people tentatively joining them on the dance floor, probably thinking that they couldn't attract any more attention than the two men standing and swaying together in the centre of the room.

_All of the things that I want to say  
Just aren't coming out right,  
I'm tripping on words,  
You've got my head spinning,  
I don't know where to go from here..._

This was the kind of moment McGee had dreamt about. So he couldn't for the life of him understand why he felt so miserable about it.  
Maybe it had been Tony's offhand reply of "_Why not?_" - an answer that as good as confirmed that Tony didn't feel at all the same way about McGee. And although he knew that it was going nowhere, as much as he would have liked to hope that it would if it was anyone other than the magnificent, untouchable Tony DiNozzo, he couldn't bring himself to stop what they were doing. It was too perfect, more than anything McGee could have imagined would ever happen to him, between them.  
It was a dream come true, and it was breaking McGee's heart.

_Cause it's you and me, and all of the people  
With nothing to do, nothing to lose  
And it's you and me, and all of the people  
And I don't know why,  
I can't keep my eyes off of you..._

So he closed his eyes, ignoring the prickle of tears beneath his closed lids; rested his head on Tony's shoulder - feeling the other man shift slightly beside him - and kept on dancing, determined to make this one moment - all he would ever have - last as long as possible.  
He didn't care who was watching them any more...

_There's something about you now  
I can't quite figure out,  
Everything he does is beautiful,  
Everything he does is right..._

...And amongst those who were watching was none other than Leroy Jethro Gibbs himself, wordlessly watching the other men from across the bullpen through slightly narrowed, ice-blue eyes.

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_(I think this chapter may be the weakest, despite being the longest, out of the three so far, but I wanted to include this moment and it wouldn't have worked within another chapter. And the last sentence needed to make more of an impact... but hey. What does anyone else think?  
**The song is the - absolutely beautiful, **_**a mi juicio_ -_ You and Me _by Lifehouse, which I do not own. Also, I changed a tiny part of the lyrics from 'she' to 'he', to fit the story._**_ Sorry?...)_


	4. Bizarre Christmas Incident

_(A/N: I don't really have much to say, other than to thank the people who've already reviewed this story, and to remind everyone that **as always, I own nada. This chapter is mostly from Ziva's point of view, and contains non-explicit femmeslash. Basically, it carries on from Chapter 2, and again, bears no relation to real life events **(I feel like I should add that in, because a fair few of my Zabby fanfics are inspired by or based on moments between my girlfriend and myself). So, sí... Here's Chapter 4! I doubt I'll have this finished for Christmas because I'm off on my holibobs for two days tomorrow, but with any luck it'll be done for New Year. Enjoy! Or not. Whatever floats your boat...)_

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It was one of those freezing, picturesque December nights when everything seemed still and silent, everything coated in a layer of glittering frost beneath the inky, star-strewn sky. The usual sounds of traffic or pedestrians passing by were completely absent, leaving the street eerily quiet. It was hard to believe that anyone was alive, let alone awake, amidst the dark and the silence - but then again, Ziva David had never been the sort of woman to conform to people's expectations.

She had awoken three hours previously at just past 4 a.m, with a throbbing headache that she knew signalled an unpleasant hangover - but for now, in the dim light and silence, it was easy enough to ignore. For a few moments when she had awoken, she had been completely confused to find herself in an unfamiliar bed without Abby's warm, soft body beside her, and to see the red dress she loved crumpled on the floor beside the bed - but then the events of the evening caught up with her, and she had turned her head in shock to look at the sleeping woman beside her, hoping that what she dimly remembered was a dream and nothing more. The sight of Jenny Sheppard lying beside her, looking nothing like the Director of NCIS with her red hair tousled and her pretty features peaceful as she slept on, confirmed the reality of what she remembered. Stunned, she had sunk back into her pillows, fuzzy recollections of the previous evening piecing themselves together in her mind.

-One memory stood out in particular, clamouring for room inside her head. The memory of Jenny's lips on hers under the mistletoe in her office. Suppressing a groan, she closed her eyes and forced herself to remember - to remember everything. And more importantly, to work out why.

The details of the 'Winter Celebration Party' itself were a little vague in Ziva's sleepy, confused, slightly hung-over mind - though the image of Gibbs' round of the impromptu karaoke contest was still vivid. As her mind cleared and the memories began to string themselves together, she remembered Abby nudging her up onto the stage, and seeing the whole team cheering her on - Tony wolf whistling as she stepped onto the 'stage' (Tony and McGee's desks, pushed together with the computers and files stowed safely out of harms way), earning him a glare from Abby...

Oh, God. Abby. She remembered her lover's face, beaming at her as she sang. This was wrong. She shouldn't be here, shouldn't be lying in Jenny's bed. Running through the events of the evening again in her mind yet again, she was just thankful that she and Jenny hadn't had sex - they had done nothing more than kiss, and fall asleep together. Jen had wanted more; she knew that, recalling the way Jen looked at her hungrily as she pushed her back against the bed before pressing her lips to hers again, but when the redheaded woman's hands strayed below her waist Ziva had gently but nonetheless firmly taken hold of them, wordlessly letting Jenny know where her boundaries lay. But really, the whole situation was way beyond the barriers of what should and shouldn't have been allowed to happen. She shouldn't have followed Jenny up to her office when she spotted the other woman watching her in the shadows as top of the stairs leading up to MTAC, shouldn't have let Jenny kiss her, and she shouldn't have gone home with her. It was all wrong. She had never imagined herself being someone who would cheat on a partner - much less, a partner she really loved.

She had called Abby from Jenny's house earlier on, while the latter was in the bathroom. She had had no idea what she was going to say, how she was going to explain away her disappearance - what if Abby had gone back to Ziva's looking for her there? She was used to lying quickly and easily undercover, it was what she was paid for- but deceiving Abby was alien to her, and she hated the very thought of it. She had been frantically trying to think of what to tell Abby; whether to tell the truth or carefully twist it, at least for the time being, when Ducky had answered the phone.

"Director", he had greeted her, uncharacteristic coldness in his voice. Ziva's heart sank. Ducky couldn't have seen them...?  
"No. It's Ziva", she'd replied. "Ducky, why do you have Abby's phone? Is she okay? Is she hurt-?"  
"She's safe - no thanks to you", he had cut her off. "As for 'okay', I highly doubt it. May I ask why you're calling from Director Sheppard's house?"  
She didn't know how to answer. There was a long, pregnant pause before Ducky spoke again.  
"She went looking for you, Ziva. She saw the two of you together".  
Ziva had felt her blood run cold at that.  
"Is... was she... ?" she had whispered, not even knowing what she was trying to say.  
"She's been in a real state," Ducky told her bluntly. "She's staying at my house, so I can keep an eye on her. I think it's for the best."  
"Can I talk to her? Please?" Ziva had almost begged him.  
"No, you can't. It's the middle of the night, Ziva. The poor girl cried herself to sleep tonight, and I'm not about to disturb her. I think I'd be right in saying you're the last person she'd want to talk to".  
"...I'm sorry, Ducky" Ziva had managed, fighting back tears.  
"You should be" Ducky had responded brusquely. Then; a little more gently, "But it's not me you need to apologise to. Goodnight".  
And with that, he had hung up the phone.

Suddenly feeling much more sober, Ziva had sat in silence for a long moment, as tears of began to slide down her olive-skinned cheeks, guilt and sorrow for hurting Abby - all for the sake of a stupid kiss beneath the mistletoe - washing over her, like waves breaking on the sand. When Jenny had emerged from the adjacent room, Ziva had brushed past her; wiping the tears from her cheeks and unable to meet her eyes; and had not unlocked the door and come out of the bathroom until she had composed herself and stopped shaking. Jenny had tried to calm Ziva down, asked what was wrong, tried to hold her, kissed her again and again until she eventually responded - but nowhere near as enthusiastically as before. All Ziva could think of now was what Abby's face might have looked like, and how hurt she must have felt, when she saw Ziva and Jenny in the office earlier, so absorbed in their kiss that they didn't even see her there. Eventually, consumed by guilt, she had rolled slowly on to one side, away from Jenny; as if literally trying to turn her back on the situation. Jenny had called her name softly, but Ziva had kept her eyes closed and feigned sleep. Eventually, the other female had given up and fallen asleep herself, but it took Ziva a long time to stop thinking and relax for long enough to join her in slumber.

And now, here she was, waiting for her lover – if that's what she had to call her - of the night before to wake up so that they could try and make sense of how this had all happened. Because _she_ sure as hell didn't know.

She felt rather than saw Jenny shift beneath the covers beside her. As she turned to watch, the redhead screwed her eyes up as if reluctant to awaken, before arching her back and stretching her limbs, the action accompanied by a sleepy murmur. One of her feet brushed Ziva's leg; and it was this that prompted Jenny to open her eyes. She smiled sleepily when she saw the other woman.  
"Good morning…" she said, in a low voice. Ziva managed a small, weak smile.  
"_Boker tov_", she replied. "How are you?"  
"Better for waking up and finding you here", Jenny smiled. Ziva couldn't bear hearing this.  
"Don't, Jen", she said quietly. Jenny frowned.  
"What's the matter?" she asked Ziva.  
"She saw".  
Jenny's eyes widened as she turned to look at Ziva properly in the gathering light.  
"Abby?"  
"Yes". Ziva had replied. She sat up, regretting it when the room began to spin a little, and nodded. "I called last night. Ducky took her home…"  
"Oh…" was Jenny's only reply. Ziva sighed.

"Jen… what happened tonight… we really need to talk about it…"  
"We do?" the redhead asked, looking directly at her. Ziva stared at her incredulously.  
"Yes!" she replied, exasperated. Jenny raised one of her finely-plucked eyebrows.  
"What is there to talk about? We kissed. That was it."  
"I have a girlfriend, Jenny. You know that. You knew that when you kissed me" she responded, growing increasingly frustrated.  
"So did you", Jenny replied calmly. "And you kissed me back. You didn't tell me to stop. Please don't try and make it seem like this was entirely my fault".  
Ziva couldn't believe how callous Jenny was being. She just didn't seem to realise the guilt that was eating Ziva up inside after the events of the previous evening.  
"I didn't mean to hurt her," Ziva said softly. "I never… I wouldn't…" Losing her usually proficient grasp of the language in her culpable confusion, she hung her head, staring at her hands.  
"Then why did you kiss me back?" Jenny asked.

Ziva had no real answer. She and Abby were a good couple… far from perfect, she knew, but much further from being a bad couple. They didn't argue often, and when they did it was always over stupid things, usually catalysed by a long day at work getting them both down; but their arguments never lasted more than a day, and they always apologised and made the petty quarrel up to each other. They got on well together, too. Abby was a best friend as well as a girlfriend to Ziva – they could talk to each other easily, joke around with one another, and they genuinely enjoyed spending time together, even doing simple activities such as shopping or washing dishes. The conversation flowed easily between the two of them – and as for the physical side of their relationship… well, Ziva was happy to say that there was nothing whatsoever wrong there. Abby was _extremely_ good in that department. And somehow, Abby made Ziva feel secure, protected, safe in the knowledge that there was no part of her lover ready to turn sour on her. They trusted each other. But now Ziva had betrayed that trust.

Deep down, she had an idea as to how it might have happened. Jenny was just the sort of person Ziva would have been attracted to if she and Abby weren't an item. And sometimes, innocuously, she had to admit to looking the other woman up and down; admiring her petite figure and striking features, and – just sometimes – wondering what could have happened if she and Abby hadn't become an item. Committed as she always swore she was to Abby, she had to admit that the thoughts of what could have happened between her and Jenny were frequently on her mind. Perhaps, with the low lights and the alcohol and adrenaline of the karaoke contest, this was how the fine mess they found themselves in had come about.

And if that was the case, it really was her fault.

Ziva turned round, unwilling to look at Jenny. She swung her legs out of bed and stood, pushing the covers off her; her headache building with every movement. She needed a shower, but right now, all she wanted to do was get away from the other female.

"Where are you going?" she heard Jenny ask. Ziva didn't reply. Tentatively, she tottered forwards; aware of Jenny watching her as, clad only in her underwear, she knelt down slowly to pick up her dress from the previous evening. She felt like crying when she saw the creases left in her beautiful birthday gift from Abby after it had spent the night lying in a heap on the floor of Jenny Sheppard's bedroom. She stepped into it, fastening the garment with trembling fingers at the back of her neck. Finally, she turned to look at Jenny, who was looking at her with an almost puzzled expression that, for some reason, made Ziva furious.

"I'm going home", she announced.  
"You don't have to…" Jenny countered silkily.  
"Yes, I do."  
"Stay with me, Ziva. Please," the other woman wheedled.  
"I can't."  
"Ziva, come on. You're hung over, and your car's back at your place. Try and think rationally…"  
"How can I think rationally when I just threw away the only fulfilling relationship I've ever had?" Ziva shouted.  
…Silence. Ziva pressed her lips together after her outburst, taking deep, calming breaths through her nose.  
"I'll let myself out" she said finally.  
She was careful not to look back at Jenny as she quietly descended the stairs; found her jacket, purse and shoes, unlocked the front door and left without another word.

-But if anybody had walked down Jenny Sheppard's street at around half seven that morning, when the sunlight was beginning to creep over the horizon and illuminate the dark neighbourhood, they might have seen a young woman in a deep red evening dress, leaning against a fence and crying quietly. And, if anyone had been around, perhaps they would have been able to decipher a single sentence through her muted weeping.

"Oh, _Abby_… How could I do this to you?"

* * *

_(...And, somehow, it's even longer than the last chapter... People cry a lot in this story, don't they? Anyway - if anyone has any opinions, please review and let me know. The reviews I've received so far are lovely, and they really motivate me to keep writing. Thank you!)_


	5. The Only Gift That I Need

_(A/N: I'm sorry it's been a couple of days since I last updated this - I've been away and it's been hard to find time to write this - let alone write it well - in the run up to Christmas. I apologise for how much this chapter sucks - I tried to find a way of making it more dramatic and emotional and failed miserably. Sorry, everyone. Ooh, and Happy Christmas for tomorrow!  
This is a Gibbs/ Tony-ish chapter, mostly from Gibbs' point of view. DiNozzo-lovers, there'll be a Tony-centric chapter coming up soon. If you don't like slash, don't read this fanfic! Anyway... here goes nothing.)_

* * *

The morning after the Winter Celebration party, everyone woke up decidedly the worse for wear and devoutly thankful that it was a Saturday so they could laze around and sleep off their hangovers- Tony DiNozzo especially, having been one of the most smashed members of NCIS present by the end of the evening. He awoke at almost noon on Saturday feeling as if he had been clubbed over the head. The sunlight was too bright, the room was too cold, and... Was that his phone going off, or just his ears ringing? Managing to reluctantly open one eye, he leaned over and fumbled around on his bedside cabinet, managing to pick up his phone and answer it.

"Tony DiNozzo..." he groaned.  
"DiNozzo". Gibbs' distinctive voice made Tony open his eyes. _Please, God, _he thought_, don't let there be a case that I have to drag my ass into work for_.  
"On it, Boss" Tony replied groggily. He thought he heard Gibbs chuckle.  
"On what, DiNozzo?" he asked. Tony paused, confused.  
"Never mind..." Gibbs sighed, but Tony could tell from his voice that he wasn't really mad at him. Not yet, at least.  
"Do I have to go into work now?" Tony mumbled down the phone.  
"No."  
"But I don't want to go... " Tony whined.  
"I said no, DiNozzo," Gibbs reiterated. Tony considered this.  
"Oh. Okay. Um... I don't mean to sound rude, Boss, but... why are you calling me"  
"Because I'm on my way to yours. Got something for you" was Gibbs' reply. At this, Tony sat bolt upright, then wished he hadn't when the room began revolving. Steadying himself with one hand, his stomach turning over as if he was on a switchback, Tony replied:  
"Sorry, Boss... for a second there I thought you said you were on your way to my place"  
"I did. I'll be there in ten minutes," replied the other man. Then, there was a beep that told Tony that Gibbs had ended the call. Processing the information he had just heard, he realised that his boss would be at his apartment in ten minutes and he, Tony, was hungover, currently half-in, half-out of bed, and naked. Swearing under his breath, he closed his eyes and stood up slowly, opening them only when he was sure he wasn't going to fall over; before tugging the bedclothes into place - he doubted he had ever been more grateful for his maid than he felt at that moment- and making his way to his bathroom.

Twenty minutes, a shower and two aspirin later and DiNozzo emerged from the bathroom feeling a hell of a lot better than he had when he went in. His headache dissipating, he now became aware of another person in the room with him. His hand going to his waist, instinctively looking for a gun, he looked properly at the intruder - before realising that it was, in fact, Gibbs, sitting on Tony's sofa looking amused at the younger man's reaction. "Boss..." Tony said weakly. "How did you get in"  
"I'm more than capable of picking a lock, DiNozzo" Gibbs answered nonchalantly. "You could have just knocked" Tony replied defensively.  
"I did. You were in the shower. And it's well into minus temperatures outside" Gibbs remarked. Then, he glanced at Tony's attire - or lack of it, given that he was wearing nothing but a small, fluffy towel. "I'll just go and put some clothes on..." he muttered, blushing, as he went back to his bedroom.

Gibbs watched the younger agent retreat to the privacy of his bedroom with an amused smile, but as Tony's door closed, he sighed. The gifts he had so carefully wrapped for Tony were behind him, on the sofa which he had been leaning on since he had - more or less - broken into Tony's apartment... and despite being married thrice since, he had realised as he wrote the gift tag that this was probably the most time and effort he had spent wrapping a gift; neatly and meticulously folding the bright paper and carefully taping it into place, since his first marriage. It was a shame that it would all be wasted when Tony knocked him back, perhaps even laughed in his face at the gesture- but after the events of the evening; or, more accurately, seeing Tony dance with McGee so closely and intimately, Gibbs was ready for it. He knew what he had to do. For now, he occupied himself with gazing around Tony's apartment, amazed at how tidy it was despite being inhabited by Tony DiNozzo, until he heard the bedroom door open and saw Tony emerge, the blush now gone from his cheeks and fully dressed in a clean, striped shirt and a pair of dark trousers. He smiled, a little awkwardly, when he met Gibbs' eyes.

"Sorry about that, Boss... I'm not used to having company this early in the morning" he told him.  
"It's past midday" Gibbs replied, pointing at the small clock on Tony's wall. Tony glanced at it, and laughed.  
"Far too early to be up and about after a night like last one... How much did I _drink_?"  
"Much too much" Gibbs answered. "Remember much of anything?"  
"Well, I think the image of you doing a Britney up on the stage is a memory that will stay with everyone for a long time..." Tony chuckled, then coughed and stopped laughing immediately when he saw the look on Gibbs' face. "Um... other than... no, not really" he admitted finally.  
Gibbs nodded, a small smile playing around his lips. "I guessed as much. Well... before I remind you of anything..." - here, he picked up the present that had been concealed on the sofa while the two of them had been speaking. Taking a deep breath, he held it out towards Tony. "Happy Christmas, DiNozzo" he said quietly.  
Tony looked stunned. "Are you serious? Aw, Boss... you shouldn't have... I didn't get you anything!"  
"You didn't have to, DiNozzo. I... wanted to give you this." Gibbs answered slowly. Tony looked surprised, but very pleased. Would his face still have the same jovial expression when he opened the gift and understood how Gibbs felt? He highly doubted it. Hearing the sofa creak slightly as Tony sat down, and the rip of wrapping paper as Tony tore it open, Gibbs turned round, staring at the floor with his back to DiNozzo, as Tony opened his gift. When the sounds of paper crumpling and ripping ceased, the only sound was the soft noise of Tony's breathing in the silent room. Gibbs bit his lip, waiting for his reaction. Some reaction. Anything at all...

"Boss...?" Tony said, after a long pause.  
Slowly, Gibbs turned round. Tony was sitting, the shirt and the Magnum box set unwrapped on his knee, He was holding half of the wrapping paper in each of his hands, and staring in bewildered surprise at his gift. He looked up at Gibbs, confusion etched in every curve and crevice of his handsome face.  
"The... Boss, it's an amazing present. Thank you so much" he managed.  
"You're welcome, DiNozzo," Gibbs replied, trying to keep his tone light and even. Tony opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, before finally saying:  
"Why?"  
Gibbs raised an eyebrow questioningly, though inside he knew exactly what the younger man was asking.  
"Why, what?"  
Tony seemed to be struggling, between his utter puzzlement and the hangover suppressed by analgesics but by no means gone.  
"Why'd you do this?"  
"Do what?" asked Gibbs, forcing himself to keep looking at Tony, keep staring expressionlessly back into those deep blue eyes that showed every emotion filtering through Tony's mind, no matter how he tried to hide them - surprise, confusion, a hint of suspicion; and by this point, exasperation.  
"Do this. Give me this stuff... I'm sorry, I sound like an ungrateful bastard. They're brilliant... but I don't see why you got them for me. I've done nothing to deserve them - I didn't even get you a Christmas card!" he replied.  
Gibbs sighed. Here was the moment he had been preparing himself for since before he had bought Tony's present. "Do you really want to know, Tony?" he asked gently.  
Tony blinked, registering the use of his Christian name, before nodding. "Yeah... wait. Boss, you're not sick, or... leaving or anything, are you?" The look of concern on Tony's face touched Gibbs' heart, as he forced a laugh and shook his head.  
"No, Tony. I'm not going anywhere. But... Mind if I sit down?" Seeing Tony shake his head, Gibbs nodded his thanks and sat slowly down on the younger man's sofa, before taking a deep breath.

"Tony, I love you".

Tony's eyes widened. Then, the corners of his mouth twitched as if he was about to laugh. "You... you're not serious..."  
Gibbs looked up at Tony, unsmiling, unblinking, his blue opts like two lasers as he gazed at the other man; confirming without words that he had meant what he said. Tony's smile dropped, his eyes darkening with comprehension.  
"I... I don't know what to say, Boss. I"  
"You can call me Jethro, if you like, Tony", Gibbs said quietly, looking away- and, when Tony looked suddenly awkward, he added: "It's just a name, Tony. It doesn't change anything between us - unless you want it to, and I can see that you don't"  
At this, Tony blushed, staring intently at his new shirt and Magnum box set.  
"I never said I didn't, Boss - sorry, Jethro. It's just - a lot to take in..."  
Gibbs sighed. "You don't have to let me down gently, Tony. I knew you didn't feel the same, and I probably shouldn't have told you. But - I kind of felt like I had to. Call it my famous gut again" he said, and was relieved to see Tony smile. Then, he looked right at Tony, and hoped the almost overwhelming sadness he felt inwardly wasn't projecting itself onto his face. "There are a whole lot of reasons why I can't act on what I feel - I shouldn't even have told you, really. It's not fair on you to jump you with stuff like that. I just thought it'd be more unfair to keep on hiding this - if I ever treat you differently than I do the others, it's better that you know why I do it. I don't like it, but it's going to be awkward enough for a while after telling you, so I'd rather not have the whole team know how I feel about you"  
Tony nodded. "I understand. And I'm glad you told me - I appreciate it, even though it's all a bit of a shock"  
The silver-haired man inclined his head. Then, he added, before he could change his mind: "...And even if you felt the same, I wouldn't do that to McGee".

Tony's forehead furrowed as he looked at Gibbs, nonplussed again. "What... what's Probie got to do with anything?"  
Gibbs closed his eyes and laughed quietly. "He's got everything to do with it, Tony. I'm not the only one who's been hiding how they feel... about you"  
At this, Tony's jaw dropped, his grip on the shirt Gibbs had bought him slackening as it slipped out of his hand onto the floor. He ignored it. If it had been any other situation, Gibbs thought, he would have found Tony's expression hilarious. But not now.  
"McGee... McGee's in love with - with me?..."  
Gibbs nodded. "He always has been, Tony. If you don't see that, just how you got to be an NCIS investigator is beyond me."  
Tony breathed out slowly, making a low whistling noise in the quiet room. "...Are you sure?"  
"He never takes his eyes off you. Do you remember dancing with him yesterday?"  
The other man groaned, bringing his free hand up to his face. "God, don't tell me we joined you onstage after 'Hit Me Baby...' ?"  
Gibbs rolled his eyes, ignoring the jibe for the time being.  
"Guess again. Slow dance. I'm guessing you were as drunk as you looked?" Gibbs asked, seeing Tony's stunned appearance.  
"McGee and I... slow dancing? Are you sure you saw this right?" he asked incredulously.  
"Ask anyone else who was there. And do you know something else? McGee looked devastated when you left him. It was like seeing a kid being given a toy they'd always wanted and then watching someone snatch it away. -I know you didn't mean to make him feel like that," he added quickly, seeing Tony's handsome face fall, "because if you didn't pick up on it when you were sober, there wasn't a chance in hell you'd notice when you were that pissed. But it's true, Tony. McGee loves you. And from what I've seen, at the very least, a part of you loves him too." He tilted his head slightly to look at the other man. "Am I right?"  
Tony stared into space, utterly absorbed in his thoughts as he tried to make sense of what he was hearing.  
"I... I haven't thought about it. Much" he admitted, as an afterthought. "It took me years to get my head round the fact that I liked men, B- Jethro. And finding out... first you, now McGee... it's a bit much"  
"I just thought I'd better tell you about McGee, because it's the main reason I haven't made a move on you, and don't intend to" Gibbs replied. Tony looked up quizzically, and he elaborated.

"The second 'B' in Gibbs may stand for Bastard, but it's obvious that McGee adores you - and, if you let him, he'll bring you more happiness than I ever could. It'd break his heart, if you were with somebody he had to interact with every day. Keeping his feelings secret is torture for him, I can see it every time he looks away from you- but he's too damn scared to tell you. And I know my input counts for sweet fuck all, but my advice would be to do something that's good for you, just for a change. I wanted to tell you how I feel because you don't deserve to be lied to. To hell with Rule 12. You deserve to be happy - and if you give McGee a chance and he turns out can make you happy, then I'm not going to be the one to stand between you and the happiness you both deserve. So┘ think on it, Tony. And whatever you choose to do, I know that you'll choose right. There's method in your madness, Tony" he added, with a small smile. Tony, who had been watching Gibbs silently as he spoke, nodded.  
"I don't know what to do, but - I'll think about it. All of it. I owe McGee that," he said, thoughtfully. "Thank you. And... I'm sorry."  
"For what, Tony?" Gibbs asked, raising one eyebrow. And for once, sitting opposite Gibbs in his living room with a Magnum box set in his hand, fast-talking Tony DiNozzo was completely lost for words. Standing up, Gibbs tentatively reached out as if to stroke his face, before clapping the other agent on the shoulder. His face was set in a relaxed half-smile, but his blue eyes were shining with an indescribable cocktail of emotion that made Tony feel like a vice was being clamped around his heart.  
"Don't apologise for being honest about how you feel, Tony," Gibbs told Tony. His hand still resting on the other man's shoulder, he added, "I'm not. And it really doesn't suit you."  
Tony managed a smile. "I'll keep that in mind."  
Nodding his head slowly, Gibbs retracted his hand from Tony's shoulder and stepped past Tony, heading towards the door. As he opened the door, he paused without turning around, before saying:  
"Take care, Tony. And Happy Christmas."

The door swung shut behind him as he departed; but, left on the latch, ricocheted back off the frame, blown back by a gust of freezing December air. Swallowing, Tony glanced at the door, before reaching down to pick up the shirt he had dropped shortly before. Gazing at the garment, so carefully chosen by Gibbs, the reason why just beginning to sink in along with the revelation that Gibbs wasn't the only one who had been hiding their feelings concerning him; Tony said softly:  
"Merry Christmas... Jethro."  
But he was already long gone, leaving Tony alone with too much to think about and only a Magnum box set for company.

* * *

_(In my opinion, this story gets more clichéd and all-round terrible the more I write... but I'm going to carry on with it. Anyone think... well, anything at all, really? Reviews are always appreciated. And sorry to those who wanted Gibbs/ Tony in this fanfic... please don't hate me!)_


End file.
